


How I Will Remember You

by hellhoundsprey



Series: ficlet prompts [23]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Swap, Bottom Dean Winchester, M/M, Top Sam Winchester, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:22:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24926104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: Prompt: A "sequel/future!ficlet" for "For Too Long", I would love to see how they are doing in their new life, with Dean finally being the cockslut that Sam knew he was, would love some feminization too. Full on Explicit! You are awesome! :)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: ficlet prompts [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/478657
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	How I Will Remember You

**Author's Note:**

> Good anons get tasty treats (:
> 
> **This is a future timestamp for my fic "[For Too Long](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4890838)". You don't have to have read it to enjoy this piece.**

Some things never get old.

Like the full thud of Dean’s weight, bumping back-first into a door.

Like: the low-low growl from behind those teeth; an empty promise.

Sam’s got his boy off the ground and those bow-legs wrapped around his hips in zero point something.

It’s all practice.

Dreading/hopeful, “Shower?” and Sam sucks on his tongue in response.

Almost-swallows it, he’s so starved. Always.

There are things that can wait, and things that cannot.

Teases, though, “You’re fucking nasty,” and gets a face for that, one of those arms thrown around his neck gripping his hair and yanking his head backwards.

Sam laughs, honest.

“Could be drenched in goddamn hellhound blood and you’d still fuck me.”

Sam responds, “Positive,” and kisses that smug mouth. Sucks on a lip as he juggles his little brother and his own belt buckle. Sam’s good with his hands.

“Fuck. How are you so fucking hard already?”

Sam laughs.

“Your adrenaline’s all fucked up. Should see a doctor ’bout that.”

“Maybe later,” jokes Sam, and it’s easy to yank those blue jeans down, just far enough to get Dean bare-assed in the fucking air, pretend-lining himself up where he needs to be, _now_.

Dean’s eyes pop beautifully and he barks Sam’s name, tries to connect a kick.

“Are you CRAZY?! Fuck you!”

Sam laughs, “I wouldn’t,” and Dean lets himself get kissed back into submissiveness.

Is grateful enough to get his feet planted back on the ground that he lets Sam arrange him over the rim of the moldy motel tub; one knee balanced on there and back arched and he’ll be banging his head into the tiles. Neither of them will care.

Sam’s brother slurs, “Fuck,” with two (heavily lubed) fingers punching right for his sweet spot. Elbows on that enamel and he’s heated, and fucking grimy.

Sam pushes that tee further up that back with his free hand. Gets it out of the way in favor of more skin, all milk.

It’s been a cloudy summer, so far.

“You gon’ do it here?”

“The bathroom? Yeah.” Dean whines; Sam chuckles. “What?”

Dean mumbles, “’S nasty,” into a non-existent beard, into the strawberry-blond covering his bare forearms.

Sam mocks, “Like you,” and grinds his hand with emphasis.

Sam’s little brother arch-tightens so pretty with a pair of fingers playing with his tits. Bites his already-sinful lip and lets Sam suck some love into the raw side of his neck.

Mutters nonsense about Sam getting some weird kind of infection, ew, don’t lick that. It doesn’t matter anyway, not at this point.

Sam grunts, “Ready?”

Dean love-hums his consent. Lets his brother thread his cock up his ass, all bare, and slaps at Sam’s thigh in warning; groans so darlingly.

Reminds, “Slow down,” and lets Sam exchange more spit back and forth between their mouths over his shoulder.

Lets Sam cup his forehead and bend his head back like that, bare his neck and fist into available strands of hair. Gurgles so fucking sweet like that, with Sam’s cock punching him out like a punishment; fucking wet and dripping.

The tile-related echo can’t add much more obscenity to any of this, really, but it tries.

Dean wheezes, grunts with his throat compromised like that. Morphed moans and Sam can hear that dick slapping all heavy and full up against that lower stomach, those thighs.

“Fuck, _fuck_ —”

“Gonna come?”

Dean sobs, “ _Yes_ ,” around Sam’s fingers, and Sam lays into him for real, then.

“Do it, c’mon,” is superfluous. Sam knows the hints. Learned this body inside-out. Could edge Dean forever if he wanted; but not today.

Needs him to come undone like a storm. Needs to feel, to reassure they’re still alive. That it’s not over yet.

Three more months.


End file.
